


Stickers on the locker

by MagnaAlmaMater



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: ASOUE is just The Secret History for kids, Angst, Canon Typical Child Abuse And Manipulation, Crossdressing, Flashbacks, M/M, Merely because I wanted the unfamous VFD party be young in 70's, Multi, Some literary allusions, Underage Drinking, Vaguely set in late 90's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 19:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17884223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnaAlmaMater/pseuds/MagnaAlmaMater
Summary: The unsolved mystery of that night in the jail and the rest goes down in history.In the inland deserts, nights are cold and it doesn’t particularly help, whether is just nightfall or midnight and being inside the house doesn’t hold much significance either. It’s the water in the ground that stores the heat when the sun doesn’t shine and the chilling truth about deserts is that in an extremely dry land, there is nothing to keep the heat overnight. And the VFD village was in the middle of nowhere and incredibly moistureless.It's a very classic story. It's about foolish men and dying.





	Stickers on the locker

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so, I'm terrible at English grammar and this work wasn't beta-readed because I'm very dissatisfied with it.  
> Which also is why I didn't finish it for a month.  
> But I wanted to post it anyway because I kind of poured my spite and young theatre years into it.

___________________________________

“A sacrifice is generally understood as a voluntary act giving up something for a greater cause, although the real connotation of the word is greatly depending on its context. The volunteering part may be seen as a crucial for the definition because the one who sacrifices something always makes a choice and usually awarded by something of a great value. A sacrifice is therefore a noble thing which corresponds with the word origin; It comes from Latin words _sacra_ and _facere_ and can be be loosely translated as the sacred deed.  
However, many other languages don’t have this connotation, since their term for a sacrifice comes from the Greek _θυσία_ . It can mean either a sacrifice or a victim. It’s a homonym, one word shared between two concepts and outside the context of use, there is no way to distinguish between them. In these languages the word _‘sacrifice’_ has negative connotations as an act of sacrifice is analogous to an execution.”

“Crimson as ever, aren’t you, brother?”

___________________________________

In the inland deserts, nights are cold and it doesn’t particularly help, whether is just nightfall or midnight and being inside the house doesn’t hold much significance either. It’s the water in the ground that stores the heat when the sun doesn’t shine and the chilling truth about deserts is that in an extremely dry land, there is nothing to keep the heat overnight. And the VFD village was in the middle of nowhere and incredibly moistureless.

Jacques was thinking about the Quagmire orphans. He wondered if they are at least at some reasonably thermally insulated place. Hoping for something actually warm would be probably much as Olaf had never shown any signs of concern for the children’s wellbeing, all his care reduced to ensuring at least one of them would live long enough to be legally able to collect their heritage and not going above that.

He gazed from the window, trying to remember if there was any good hideout in the village. If this was late evening, the night was going to be freezing.  
“Not only the light of the bright world dies with the dying sun,” smiled gloomily to himself.

In the cell Olaf growled in annoyance and said something rude.

Jacques sighed, “I was merely commenting the weather.”

“Of course, I definitely didn’t hear you reciting that awful poetry again.”  
“It is natural to have free associations,” retorted Jacques. “Especially when it comes to well remembered verses and it’s getting very cold.”

And Olaf answered like it wasn’t a jail, he wasn’t a convinced murdered, an arsonist, a kidnaper and many other things, like he didn’t leave them all and quite literally burned all bridges behind himself, betraying their cause and breaking the heart of Jacques’ sister, all at once.

“Yes, about that. If it's still up for offer I could use some tea."

Jacques took a second to calm himself down, because of course the man was arrogant enough to take it all for granted. He couldn't expect less of him.   
He took a deep breath to prevent himself saying that Olaf will be served is cold justice, or something of the kind, but Olaf was never one to appreciate complicated word plays. Moreover, perhaps to his own foolishness, kindness was an interrogation technique Jacques was most skilled in.  
Some would even say the only one.

He wasn't the man to mistreat prisoners - not even someone like Olaf and the man was standing only in his undershirt in a cell with open window. It was a small village, no one probably even considered that someone could stay in the jail overnight.  
At least a cup of tea made everyone more agreeable.  
They didn’t have much time with the Quagmire orphans locked up who knows where after all. 

He didn’t find the strength to forgive himself a bitter remark though.  
“I’m afraid we have no sugar. Would you like honey?”  
He didn’t even have to look into the cell, he could basically hear Olaf’s united eyebrows crashing even more together in an angry frown from the tone of his displeased growl.

It was strangely satisfying.

___________________________________

A part of him wanted to forget all of it. Their mutual history. It would be best for everyone just to lock Olaf somewhere deep in the prison and never talk about it again. Just hope it will never come out to shame them all.

He couldn’t let himself slip at that point because he knew the man before him was no longer his friend. He read Jacqueline’s reports, he saw the bodies. He knew what was Olaf doing to these children.  
It was unforgivable, that he told himself. Repeadly.

He tried to kill Larry.  
How could anyone be able to hurt Larry, Jacques didn't understand. He was the softest and the most unblemished person of them all. He carried him half-frozen from Prufrock Preparatory School, thinking how terribly unjustifiable it is to hurt someone simply because they can't fight back.

But what else could be expected from Prufrock.

The place brought up memories and not all of them were in a retrospective pleasant. It is true what they say about schools, they just don’t change. It’s a whole world pressed into one place and it consists primarily of failed dreams, the smell of children's sweat, tears and it's led by bullies and opportunists which gain their living energy from others helplessness.  
Time can flow, educational innovations can be implemented, but no reconstructions, alternations, modification or whatever attempts for an improvement people come up with, can make places like Prufrock something else than a living hell.

What did a cakesniffer mean anyway?  
Was she French?

He remembered times when the school was still a good institution and even then it was difficult to coast through it unharmed.  
There is always a bully, a princess, a child hero, a class clown, a kid most likely to make is and a teacher.

That _one_ teacher.

It didn't matter if they climbed on the table to emphasize an important of the absurd poetry or if they sat in an old chair and talked for hours about a glory of intellect, individuality, or classically education. They were rebels in the dull system. Wise in their disobedience, enchanting and as fatal for students as no one else.

He gave Larry a blanket and the trembling lips repeated the sentence about him being a hero. He pretended not to hear it, although he wasn't sure who exactly he was protecting.

___________________________________

He found himself slowly drifting away from the annoying pitch of Olaf’s voice, as he watched Olaf sipping his tea and listening him complaining about anything that came to his mind. There was a lot, without doubt. The man’s always been like that.  
His monologue lulled Jacques somewhere deep to his own mind and usually he wouldn’t be a stupid enough to detach himself from reality right before a prisoner but chances that Olaf would let something useful slip were minimal. After all they were both trained all the same.  
“I hope to finally have a reasonable conversation with you,” he interrupted the man before his complaining managed to put him fully to sleep, “If only you were willing to cooperate.”  
The man smirked and his teeth were crooked, “If you expect me to fall into your arms just because you gave me a cup of tea, prepare to be disappointed.”

And honestly, he didn’t but he hoped so.

Jacques raised his eyebrows, “Just imagine how cold those kids have to be.”   
Olaf looked over the cup, “They can use their pretentious poetry or something to warm themselves.”  
He frowned, “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Not even little bit?” and it was hard to imagine Olaf being ashamed of anything but Jacques wanted him to be. Moreover he wanted to be the one to shame him.  
The man shrugged, “Appealing to my humanity or pride is useless and you know it.”  
“It did once,” he pressed. “You fought with us for justice, What happened to you?”

“Perhaps I’d realized it was not justice, you were offering.”

___________________________________

 “There are various chemical substances which influence one’s body and mind. They can keep you awake at night, they can alter your perception of your own anatomies, they can put disorder to your veins and make you listen, they can make you feel like you love or you like are loved, or like you have never been really loved ever in your life. They can turn you into evil lunatics or inspire you to do the bravest deeds. Maybe, in your life, you become eager to experience some of them, however, an experience doesn’t equal understanding. The knowledge is only one thing greater than chemistry. Education, literature, Latin and Greek nomenclature are the core of man. An art of language is the greatest drug of them all,” the man, not yet a principal by then, said and it made Jacques nod mentally.

Later, when the man told him he saw a great potential in him, it was the proudest he has ever felt.

___________________________________

“If you come back willingly,” Jacques insisted, “I’m sure they will be open-minded. They are all well-read people.” he tried but in the response Olaf only snorted.  
“Yes, because reading books always prevented murders and war crimes and stuff.”

He never understood why Olaf didn't like old stories. They had a universal truth in them, taught people how to live. Helped them to live.  
Perhaps it was due to Olaf's obsession with his own individuality, but no experience is singular.

“It’s human to make mistakes,” Jacques began carefully. “I’m sure your circumstances will be taken into consideration.”  
“ _Circumstances_.” Olaf repeated like it was an offense and looked straight into Jacques’ eyes. He looked more worn out and thin than he should be, even with the consideration of all of his genetic flaws, which, if Jacques remembered correctly, made him go half-bald in his twenties. “You know exactly who is responsible for them in the first place.”

He did but sometimes he wished not to.  
If he didn’t know at which exact point of Olaf’s life his hair turned grey, it would make his job much easier.

It was a tragedy for them all.

___________________________________

Firstly, it was a matter of practicality, he needed to be in the right place at the right time and only taxi drivers seem to be able to do that. It was much easier to have someone moving agents from place to place so they could concern directly on their missions. Moreover, he was the only one with a driving license back then.  
They all had their roles, carefully appointed on a base of their talents or skills. He didn’t have an eloquence of his brother, an amazing patience of a living statue Jacqueline had, Beatrice’s charisma or Larry’s appearance so plain he could infiltrate anything without people noticing. So the taxi was what was left.  
But if he ever thought it to be a nuisance he didn’t remember it. He always understood a good cause takes sacrifice and over the time he realized he liked it - to be able drive his taxi freely, appearing at the right moment to aid others. He was the Deus Ex Machina and he was proud of what he did.

Arriving in the nick of time was being a hero after all.

Moreover, he wasn’t really the one to be that much into the theater. Not that he didn't enjoy seeing, or even experiencing the play coming to life on the stage, but always thought himself to be more of a journalist, possibly a critic. The pompousness of the social gathering didn’t exactly repulse him, but he felt more comfortable in his casual clothes, waiting in a taxi.  
They have all been too much into theatricity, for his liking. Not that he would reject it completely, but in his opinion the justice should be done more directly, without useless intrigues and drama.

He didn’t exactly miss the opera fiasco.

He drove his brother back.

It wasn’t always a pleasant job.

___________________________________

“Stop being so stubborn.” he said, and this time it was more of a plea than a demand. “I got you, Olaf, it's over. By tomorrow’s evening, you’ll be at our headquarters facing the trial. Don’t add these children to your list of charges.”  
“Since when you feel obliged to stand by orphans?” the prisoner retorted with an annoying pitch in his voice.  
“They are not responsible for anything what happened.” Jacques shook his head in disbelief. “They are children, Olaf. _Children_ .”  
“So were we!” the prisoner hissed back with apparently barely contained rage. “So tell me, Jacq, why should I care? Why should we care?”  
“Because we are better than that!” he lashed out and immediately realized his mistake as it came out too tight and loud, but he couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t take back many things.

“Are you now?” Olaf hissed and Jacques didn’t question the veracity of his reply.  “And what exactly do you do so differently? We both know why and _how_ VFD recruits children to their ranks.”

“You don’t have to shout, Olivia is sleeping.”  
Olaf’s eyes shined in the darkness of the cell. “Oh, your librarian is still around? That's kinky. You are full of surprises, Jacques.”  
He had to bite his lip to prevent himself from saying something stupid. “There is no reason to wake her up.”  
Olaf snorted, glancing above himself where he presumed Olivia slept. “I suppose a start of a romance is not a good time to admit you have kidnaped children. At least of your idea of romance.” His voice was quiet but that too felt almost like shouting to Jacques’ face.

“Listen, we may have joined VFD as children, but we are all volunteers.” Which was as much misstatement as claiming that people’s republics are usually run by people or are a republic in the first place.  The game was much bigger than that and the truth was darker and more unsettling.  
Olaf rolled his eyes, proving how fragile the whole facade was.

Jacques sighed, “It's not that controversial when you look at other organizations, and you know it. Many formally authorized professional organization recruit children because they are used to listen commands, follow a set regime and obey whoever is in a charge.”  
The man just shook his head, “I wouldn't take any pride in being compared to the military but at least you admit it.”  
“They give us a chance to put down fires.” Jacques insisted, “To stand for righteousness. To change the world.”  
“The world cannot be changed,”Olaf hissed. “But now, I can burn it down when I please.”  
“Why does an idea of standing for the good cause again repulse you so?”  
“You know how it goes,” Olaf didn't even look at him. “There aren't any good, brave causes left.”  
“That’s not true. We had reasons to fight, even you did.” Jacques pressed but Olaf already turned and retreated to the back of the cell without looking back.  
“Feel free to take your tea back. It’s cold already.”

“Is this the life you chose?”  
“Jacques, I dated Georgina. I’m immune to guilt trips, just cut it off.” his voice was uncharastically humorless.

They remained in silence for a long time with Jacques resting his forehead on cell bars because suddenly his head felt too heavy.

___________________________________

They never really played Shakespeare when they were young. They talked about it a lot, of course, but they didn’t have enough actors to fill the whole cast. It’s always like that with young theatre groups. They also couldn’t be bothered to play Romeo and Juliet.

They considered Pushkin, though.

“You can’t be both Salieri AND Amadeus,” he sighed. “It just doesn’t make sense”  
Olaf pouted, “It would be fine! Many great actors get dual roles!”  
“Yes, Olaf, great actors,” said Lemony who was having his temper tested for the last thirty minutes and was obviously reaching his patience limits. “Great actors which you are not.”  
“Excuse me?” Olaf gasped.  
“You are being rude, L,” said Kit.

Lemony snarled “He can’t even get one character’s lines right! Remember the ‘wine-dark sea’ part from Homer? That was just mess!”  
“It was not mess,” opposed Olaf, “dark wine IS red!”  
“It was not supposed to be literal!”

Olaf’s upper lip lightly trembled and his lower jaw hung slack, baring his yellow teeth, in a grimace full of embarrassment and frustration. It was a children’s game. For a genuine reaction, it seemed to be too exaggerated, but the problem with actors is that once they get to the point when they themselves don't know whether they are acting or actually experiencing a genuine emotion.

“L means it was a figurative expression,” Jacques said carefully, trying to decipher what exactly he was seeing in Olaf’s face. Of course, a great actor would be able to mimic microexpressions of any emotion, including confusion. A great actor, which, like Lemony pointed out, Olaf was not.

Jacques sighed, “It's an idiom.”  
“Woah, YOU are an idiot!”  
“I said an idiom. That means something which is not meant literally. It's figur- What were you even doing in language classes?”  
Now you are bringing up our high school results? I thought you were better than this.”  
The younger Snicket rolled his eyes. “You are an actor, Olaf, how can you be so illiterate?”

It was most probably a rhetorical question, but hit the theme Jacques was admittedly interested. This mystery for it haunted him for days after every encounter with Olaf and he genuinely wanted some explanation.

The man's eyes stared at them with apparent confusion, pupils so wide they looked as black and glassy as the eyes of a newborn calf who just came to this world and realized that it must share its mother's milk with an adult member of another specie.  
Jacques sighed, accepting he won't get his answers today. “Illiterate means-”

“I know what illiterate means!” bars clanked as Olaf grabbed them furiously. “I just spend my time on better things than being pretentious or pretending that the most important thing in life is to speak like I ate a 200 years old dictionary.”  
“No one is saying you should do that,” said Jacques gently. “We are merely surprised by your gaps in basic vocabulary, considering your occupation.”  
“Yes,” nodded Kit. “You’ve been an actor since we were young, you had to have some lines containing the word figurative at least once.”  
“In the theater, it's the context that defines the meaning!” the man opposed angrily and Jacques wished it was the first time in his life he heard that argument.  
“But how do you express that context if you don't understand the meaning?”

“There was a pause during which Olaf repeatedly opened and closed his mouth without saying anything. A pause during which Jacques feared he might have overloaded Olaf’s cognitive processes and broke him behind the possibility of reparation.  
Then Olaf said, “I don't need a book to know what something means. I'm the one talking and so I'm in control of the meanings of my vocabulary and so it means exactly what I mean.”

Jacques blinked and Lemony moaned, “You just can't be mature for once in your life and admit you are wrong, can you?”  
“Being mature and pretentious are different things!” Olaf continued, furiously gesticulating, “Moreover, what sense does it make anyway? If you want me to rant a hour about my problems they should be my problems in the first place! You all- You all think you’re so special with your- insight. But you don’t understand that plays- that literature was for people to enjoy. For ordinary people to enjoy!”

Kit smiled appreciatively, but Jacques suspected no one was meant to see it.   
He never blamed his sister for her affection. After all, Olaf was quite charming man.

Olaf groaned loudly. “You know what? FINE I’ll play just Mozart. But I'm going to rap all the lines like when I was rehearsing Homer.”  
He slapped a white wig on his head and climbed the table.

___________________________________

He was staring at a half empty cup of the tea forgotten on the jail floor and surrounded him like a sticky slime rushing in from all sides, until he couldn’t stand it anymore.  
“You know,” and it was goofy even before he said it, but he did say many ridiculous things today, therefore one more mistake couldn’t hurt, “I never wanted us to be enemies.”

In the response there was for a long time no sound, not even a breath, like he was the only one in the house, alone with his disgrace and failures. He was too ashamed of himself to look up, not even when he heard quiet footsteps approaching him.

Jacques always suspected Olaf is in fond of arson because flames were reckless and destructive, a spitting image of the man himself. There was something enchanting about it. About a person which treats everything like a destruction it the only acceptable way to go. Eccentricism, extrovertism and egocentrism, all overlapping in a way one couldn’t ignore.

He forgot how extraordinary is was to receive an unselfish gesture from such a person.

A light press of the other’s lips on his own startled him. But the man always kissed surprisingly gently.  
“You really are an idiot, Jacq,” Olaf said softly.  
He looked at him, astonished and it made a terrible sense for this night to end up like this. In the grayish light which was illuminating the cell Olaf looked even more sickly than usual, like he was bathed in flour or dust. Even his eyelashes were pale. Jacques stroked his face gently. He didn't think he has ever seen anyone else with pale eyelashes.

Olaf resembled an old script with chalky pages and a worn cover. Jacques imagined the man was as fragile and cool as he looked. Like he was held in darkness, neglected by sunshine too long, something from forgotten times or times which someone intentionally wanted to be hidden, waiting for Jacques to rediscover him again. For his hands to remake and reveal him.  
But he always looked like that, even before the schism, before he became a living proof of VFD’s past failures, although the last time Jacques had an opportunity to hold him, he was more ginger and less bald and his kisses didn't have a bitter aftertaste of sorrow.

He pressed his mouth to Olaf’s almost violently, pushing deeper, almost dragging Olaf’s head through the bars with a desperation of a drowning man and it must have been painful but the man didn’t pull off until he was obviously breathless.

___________________________________

He picked Olaf from the casino and honestly, he was surprised the man managed to call him. It was obvious he was barely holding it together as collapsed to the backseat, without shoes, makeup all over his face, wearing something what looked suspiciously like a saree.

Jacques didn’t see anyone following them, but pulled off the main road just to be sure. The night was dark and the radio was silently playing over the humming engine of the taxi. It was almost peaceful. He thought Olaf is asleep when his friend murmured, “I don’t quite feel my body, it’s like it is doing everything automatically.”

He looked in the rearview mirror, finding Olaf wiggling his fingers before his face and watching them with slight confusion.  
“Are you high?”  he asked with raised eyebrows.  
“Only a little,” the man grinned and Jacques groaned unapproving.  
Perhaps it was not his place to evaluate the process of the mission if it had the job done, but he still didn’t think getting doped to the point one can walk straight is an appropriate way to behave for an agent. It was unnecessarily dangerous.

“That’s extremely unprofessional behavior.”  
Olaf moaned in answer, bones in his neck cracking loudly as he threw his head against the backrest of the car seat.  
“C’mon Jaq, if I have to work with these parvenus I can have some fun on my way as well.”  
“You don’t look a little high,“ he sneered. “You are probably going to vomit in any minute.”  
“You don’t vomit after a single line of coke.”

At that point Jacques would start screaming if Olaf didn’t pull out slightly crumpled papers from some mysterious place.  
“All signed, all authentic, all done.”  
He flicked through them quickly. He couldn’t really check them since he was driving, but they seemed alright. Dates were right, signatures were in places and beside little crinkles they were even clean, without any visible dirt or stains.  
That relaxed him a little. Nevertheless, he didn’t hand them back to Olaf, just to be sure they won’t come to any harm.  
“Whatever. But if you are going to vomit, try to do it from the window.” It wasn’t teasing, at least not fully, he was actually concerned about the state of his car.  
Olaf made pouty face. “I can contain myself.”  
“Are you sure because you are barefoot.”  
Olaf’s head fell back and he howled “Let me live, Snicket!”  
“And you are wearing a crop top,” Jacques pointed out.  
“It’s a choli, you uneducated swine.”

That made him smile.

Olaf was semi-fighting with the scarf which was no longer wrapped around him and obviously he had a really hard time winning because if it was possible to trip in a sitting position, he would. It wasn’t really surprising considering his clumsiness had to only number due to his considerable intoxication. Moreover, as he waved the scarf, it reeked of alcohol.

“Dear God,” Jacques growled, “was that really a casino or an illegal distillery?”  
“I spilled some tequila on myself while attempting to down the bottle,” said Olaf like it was a normal thing to do on Wednesday and Jacques didn’t contain laugh this time.  
“How can you even work in this state?”  
Olaf just shrugged, “It’s standard procedure. You have to bond with them on his own terms.”  
“I highly doubt situation requires you to take off your shoes.”  
“It’s simpler to make the frog pose without shoes on.”  
“They had a pole?”  
“Everything is a pole, if you are resourceful.”  
He snorted and Olaf laughed and laughed and didn’t stop because he was still in his teens.

They both were.

On the radio David Bowie started playing and he had to admit, he quite liked Bowie’s songs, although he would never admit it to Lemony. He would probably think them to be too cheesy. He always said there is nothing honest in the mainstream culture, that it’s all artificial, like these models turned into movie actresses. They may look pleasant at the first glance, their gestures are right, but behind their eyes, they are dead.

Olaf wouldn’t think that.  
Especially not high Olaf.

The drums joined the piano and Jacques thought that perhaps they can really afford to live a little. He slightly increased the volume and watched Olaf to shake his shoulders in the rhythm of the music happily.  
“Aaaaah- Turn and face the strange! Ch-ch-changes! That’s what we do, don’t we?”

And the song wasn’t about that, but Jacques found strength to correct his friend.  
“I sure hope so.”

"Also, if it pleases you, I do feel my body now."  
"Do you?" he asked carefully.  
Olaf at the backseat frowned. "Yea. And I quite see what Rimbaud meant. I feel like a boat."

In the end Olaf vomited all over his taxi.  
They didn’t dare to show up in Wyoming ever again.

_______________________________

Olaf was practically pulling him through jail bars, crushing his face and occasionally a nose but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to care with Olaf making flattering little noises.  
At least until he gasped loudly.  
“Oh, Jacq-” but never finished whatever he wanted to say because Jacques slapped a hand over the man's mouth in a gesture which was mostly symbolic but did the deed. The man’s confusion lasted only for a second. “The pretty librarian, huh? Are you afraid old affairs would interfere with your new fairytale romance?” he grimaced. “Or is there more? Would she be disgusted?”

Jacques couldn't say he ever missed the emphasis Olaf put on a pronunciation of plosives when he was happy to gloat. Dis. Gus. Ted. It burned through his skin like acid and he wondered why the man had to be so insufferable at any cost.

“This is between the two of us and Olivia doesn't need to know,” insisted Jacques and the man’s smirk widened.  
“I bet she doesn't need to know many things.”  
“She knows more than you would guess,” his breath was more breathless than it should be. “She’s a very resourceful woman.”  
Olaf leaned as close as bars allowed. “C'mon, Jacq, we both know you prefer the storm before the silence.”  
“That's not how that simi-” he started, but the man was kissing him again.  
“You are killing the mood,” whispered Olaf against his lips.  
“I’m definitely not,” he opposed, but Olaf was obviously in his malicious self again, although his voice was considerably lowered so at least that boundary he respected.

“I just can't imagine what would happen if she would find you,” he gloated. “A righteous and proper Jacques Snicket, in a jail, fucking a prisoner. That would be hard to explain, wouldn't it?”  
“We are not,” he really didn't want to say it but he couldn't have Olaf to feel superior, ”fucking.”  
The shine in Olaf’s eyes only widened.  
“We could be.”

It took Jacques a heartbeat to find an answer. “I’m not a fool, I’m not letting you out. Nor I’ll go to your cell with the keys,” he grunted and Olaf looked at him in an expectation.

“If you need some more convincing, I think I remember some Shakespeare.” He was pulling on the hem of Jacques’s shirt now, long fingers absently tracing the waistband of his pants, a gesture gentle but undeniably persistent. If it was anyone else doing it, Jacques could at least pretend there are pure intentions behind the action, but this was Olaf and he was known to have a little to the none sense of dignity. “At this holy shine, the gentle fine is this: My two lips, blushing pig-grimes, ready stand-”

“Please don't.”Jacques sighed, resigned, knowing he won’t be able to look at himself in the mirror later.

He was an intelligent man, trained and experienced enough to recognize when he was being teased, deceived even, however, it all made a terrible sense for this night to end like this. It was an idiotic choice but Jacques’s hand reached the pocket with cell keys.  
“This is so not going into my report,” he muttered and then opened the jail and dropped the keys somewhere of the reach.

After all, one couldn’t be careful enough with Olaf. The man always knew exactly what he was doing with a ridiculous certainty.

___________________________________

He kept some lubricant and condoms in his taxi. These were very suspicious things to have in a taxi of course, and one would rather not see them there or even avoid thinking about a possibility of existence of these things within a reach of the taxi, but Jacques had to be prepared for all sorts of missions, even those which may required controversial supplies, which undoubtedly made their presence understandable.

There are intricate and unforeseeable ways of men ending up in kinky trouble.

Perhaps he was being a hypocrite.

___________________________________

He remembered he was scolding Olaf for his intoxication on the mission, although he didn’t really mind much. He did care, however. He had a terrible case of protectiveness, that he was aware of. It was the burden of being the eldest sibling, but Jacques didn’t particularly liked an idea of letting Olaf wander around high and dizzy around these men.

“Most of men aren’t that hard to please.” Olaf groaned and rocked back on his heels. Figuratively. His feet were still bare as he stood on the hard road. He was still a little flushed and shook and his skin smell of layers of sweat and vomit. “It’s a game. You just have to mirror them like they define you. If they are into heavy drinking, you drink. If they lay out cocaine, you don’t hesitate. You didn’t have any life before you met them. No personality. You were clear.”

“Aren’t you afraid you get too drunk and accidentally say something confidential?” he asked silently because it was easier to pretend he’s concerned about the wellbeing of VFD and not Olaf.  
“That’s where the fun part comes in.” he said like he wasn’t foolishly putting himself into unnecessary danger. “If I do, they don’t believe it. They just think I’m crazy which is hot.”  
“How’s that attractive?”  
“These guys just like it. The danger,” Olaf purred and made a show of his spider legs, no longer bound by the petticoat. “I’m slim and discuss art and politics with them, pretending I’m interested in their opinions,” he grinned and the smeared lipstick made his face look split up. “And when they think I’m intelligent and hot and then I add something spicy. I let slip my arson history, say I like it with a knife in my neck, or something like that. I make myself a perfect archetype of an intelligent, crazy girl, the suicidal psycho femme fatale. It draws them nuts. It’s the adrenaline.”

Jacques understood why he rather left without shoes than staying in such a company for five more minutes. It was kind of depressing to know what his friend volunteers go through for the cause. But, he supposed, good deeds required some price.  
His fingers brushed Olaf’s collarbone.  
“Do you like having a knife at your neck?” he retorted to make the situation less grievous.  
Olaf winked “Don’t we all seek an orgasmic pleasure of being released of the nuisance of being?”

He laughed and Olaf’s long fingers wrapped around him and stroked with surprising finesse for someone who just ended up shaking from vomiting a half bottle of tequila.  
So yes, he fucked high Olaf in that stupid crop top over the taxi seat the while he was still spitting the rest of the vomit-tequila-cocaine mixture.  
To him Olaf seemed barely alive at that moment as he was drifting between near unconsciousness and hyper awareness. And although Olaf probably felt more alive than ever it wasn’t the proudest moment for any of them.

On the other hand, he didn’t break a single traffic law.

___________________________________

Olaf pushed him down on the jail floor with more ease than he should considering Jacques’ obvious weight advantage.

“You will be the death of me,” Jacques whispered between kisses and lets his hands slip from Olaf’s back down to his waist, hips and lower and yes, even after all these years he still has these long, thin legs like a damn spider. He always looked so good in a skirt and Jacques would never admit how many sleepless nights he had because of the occasional opportunity of seeing Olaf in a drag.  
The man leaned closer, “If you are going to be depressing about it, I’ll find something to cheer you up.”

Knowing Olaf it was probably a threat, although Jacques had never any idea what exactly was going on in that ridiculously big forehead, simply because he had no personal experience similar to Olaf’s behavior and mentality to use for comparison.

“I’d be happier if you just stopped talking,” he murmured, burying his face in Olaf’s neck in an attempt to prevent himself from moaning, because there were hands on his crotch again, except this time they were moving much more deliberately. He didn’t realize it before, but it had to be while since he, well, got lucky, because at this rate the whole encounter was going to end more sooner than later.  
Olaf snorted, “You always had a bigger dick than your brother.”  
“For God's - ! Olaf!” he howled, “Why are you always- Dammit!” He wanted to continue in shocked gibberish, but Olaf was already freaking giggling like he was still a teenager and not a grown up man.

“You are terrible,“ Jacques sighed, letting his hands unapologetically grab a handful of Olaf's ass through his pants, noting that even after these years Olaf was still equipped with really cute ass and therefore a handful, as would the said brother love to point out, in this context it meant he could hold it whole in his hands.  
Suddenly he needed to feel his skin.

“Don’t you think we are both overdressed?” he asked, pulling up the lem of Olaf’s undershirt to see his flat stomach visibly framed by his hip bones and ribs which gave his torso an uneven structure. It made him pause.  
Olaf just snorted, “I certainly am, but I’m not sure about you. I can already see your nipples if you'd take the shirt off I could be overcome by your masculinity.” but he allowed Jacques to pull off the undershirt.

He was always too witty and careless for his own good and not for the first time Jacques found himself aching for it.  
His eyes raised to the noose hanging from the cellar of the cell and although it may thrill some, Jacques was never the one to find pleasure in morbidity and self-induced drowning in melancholy. That station was reserved for his younger brother.

“Don’t you think you are overdoing it with the rope?”

Olaf in his arms chuckled and then  lifted himself, reaching for the noose behind him, pulling it enough for it to drop down and tight up around his wrists. He was grinning down at Jacques with a mischievous crooked smile.

“At 4.48 when depression visits I shall hang myself to the sound of my lover's breathing.”

With the rope pulling him up, his ass was left it the air, barely touching Jacques’ lap. He growled as Olaf pushed himself down to meet his groin directly.  
His abdomen was stretched with ribs visible and stomach slightly sunk and it was grotesque to the point of a pure absurdity that Jacques could find something like that arousing but so was the whole train wreck of the absolute Comedy of Errors which led to this point. He started to thinking that he handled the whole situation very badly because if there was a situational definition of irresponsibility, it definitely included bound, half naked Olaf in his lap.

“I do not want to die,” the man continued and despite not being a shivering beauty, he felt so fragile under Jacques’ hands. Of course he shouldn’t have expected less from a man who volunteered to play a honeypot on any occasion he had.   
“I have become so depressed by the fact of my mortality that I have decided to commit suicide-” whispered Jacques to Olaf’s chest since he’s known the lines and the man grinned even more.

“I have resigned myself to death this year.” he finished skipping half of the lines of the monologue and then, with all his theatrics, went slack in Jacques’ arms, letting him support all of his weight and it was all so bad-rehearsed that just the delivery should turn Jacques off, but near it, perhaps he was a little bit into this kind of a decadent fetishism after all, although he wasn’t longing for the morbidity of a hopeless love affair with Lemony’s ferocity, no, his faults laid elsewhere.

He only wondered when did Olaf notice in the first place.

___________________________________________

There was that quiet conversation before a premiere of the Orwell adaptation.

“Kit said she doesn’t want to have kids with me because I don’t read.” said Olaf and seemed indifferent. “That she doesn’t want to have kids with someone who doesn’t read books.”  He threw another stone from from the bridge.  
Everything about this statement was so empty it left Jacques shook for years. Olaf’s expression, the line itself, the idea of deciding to have or not to have kids based solemnly on this premise.   
The fact it did sound exactly like something his sister would say.  
By that time he had already got taller than Jacques and the premature occurrence of silver in his hair made him look adult but he was still very young. There was something uncomfortable and freezing in the air, like shivers from a sudden attack of social anxiety in the middle of crowd, it took Jacques some time to realize he wasn’t the source of it.

It was almost archetypal.   
It was no secret that Olaf never liked his father.

And he definitely wasn't the person to have children. In fact Jacques never even considered an option that Olaf could have some one day. He was too selfish to consider children to be anything else than an add-on to his personality and probably too illiterate to distinguish between accessories and ancestry.  

He didn’t dare to respond.

“I still don’t know if it’s a punishment or a reward,” smirked Olaf but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. The next stone made a loud splash.

Jacques shook his head, “You know what is always said, we are supposed to protect the world not fill it. An intelligent man understands the fertilization is not a part of his station.“  
Olaf bared his teeth, “Why would you take anything what Ishmael said seriously?”

___________________________________

The man's mouth was hot on his ear, “So fragile that heroism of yours, poor thing really. Quite damned.” And although Jacques was undeniably a very patient man, he was he was barely containing himself at the moment.  
It was indeed a madness, folie à deux. A psychosis shared between two of them. Olaf had a talent for dragging other people into his personal insanity. No matter Jacques considered himself to be the sane one of their clique.  
“How will you live when you know you can’t save me before myself, Jacques?”  
Later, Jacques would be partially embarrassed of the desperation with which he released Olaf’s hands from the bound - almost subconsciously he noted it wasn't really tied, of course Olaf would never voluntarily put himself into a seriously vulnerable position - and pressed him face down on the floor.

The man moaned as Jacques urged his pants and underwear down around his skinny legs to ankles, obviously enjoying being manhandled and damn, if drilling Olaf’s face into the dirt was what it took, to turn him into drooling mess, Jacques was prepared to give a whole load of that to him.

“Olaf-” he gasped into the man’s neck while struggling with his own pants. “May I- I need-” And it was no pride in it, it was shameful and utterly humiliating, but if Olaf would say no at that moment, Jacques was prepared to beg.  
“Go on-” the man's voice was as breathless as Jacques’ own.

“I don’t have any- he looked around the prison, but there was nothing but abandoned tea cup. He considered their options. “Do you know how tea bags sometimes have that kind of gelatinous slime on them-”  
“What the f- Don't you dare.” Olaf hissed at him, “What Snicketism is that? Just spit into your hand like a normal damned person.”  
When he thought of it, it was probably only on herbal tea, anyway. His hands ran up Olaf’s thighs, thin and almost girlish. Jacques’ weight had to be crushing him. He always complained that he is too heavy.  
“It’s going to hurt,” he said, and he knew he shouldn’t, that there was no nobility in it, but still let his fingers slip closer.  
“It’s not,” Olaf whippered and then he sighed at Jacques’ hesitation. “It's alright. Don't worry about me.”  
“It’s-”  
“For heck’s sake, Jacques!” the man under him barked, “You are not the first not the last to fuck me to the ground, so get on with it!”

To his credit, Olaf didn't make a single noise when Jacques pressed his fingers - two at once, which had to be too much- inside him. He was hot and tight and the slickness of Jacques’ spits obviously wasn't going to do an adequate job, but he still was pliant enough to feel welcoming. He felt like the last remains of oxygen left his brain as he spread his fingers and with no doubt it had to be too soon for it, but Olaf didn’t struggle nor tighten up in the response, which was in a way alarming. He was used to it. There was a pregnant pause during which the last shreds of self-respect Jacques had, blasted somewhere to an oblivion, in a moment of realization that he too couldn’t be bothered to go easy with Olaf.

___________________________________

Occasionally he was a driver for both sides. Some say taxi drivers have no pride, but he was sure he’s doing his best to serve justice.  
He didn’t drive anyone to set fires.  
At least he didn’t know about it.

So he drove him back a few years ago and kept telling himself that sometimes their goals are still the same. They were two sides of the same coin, after all.

The man looked like hell.

He thought it's not too late just yet so he brought it up.  
“You were one of us, Olaf. One of the best. Your skills can be still needed in VFD.”  
“Oh, a recruiting attempt?” The man made that long-faced grimace, he always did when giving evaluating something mockingly. “Trying to play to my ego. Not bad, but you have to try harder.”  
“I’m serious, just look at yourself, Olaf,”  Jacques insisted, ”You are a mess, you look like you are starving and you live from day to day. You can do so much better.”

The man just shook his head in a laugh. “No, Jacq. No. Also, I’m quite attentive to my financial situation. Thank you very much.”  
“So I’ve heard,” he hinted. “Obviously you are involving yourself high level politics now?”  
“What do you mean?”  
Jacques closer. “I know about Clinton.”  
The man was obviously taken back. “Wait, what? Woah, woah. I should have set more boundaries for this small talk. This calls for a safe word!” and if Jacques didn’t know better he would think Olaf could be seriously offended by something.  
He grinned, “It may calm you to know it’s not an officially known. It was just my assumption. I know your work.”  
It took a good minute for Olaf to close his mouth and raise his palms in a pompous gesture, “Fine. Guilty as charged,” he confirmed and Jacques shook his head.  
“You really have no shame.”

“He wasn’t that unattractive man, so no, no shame in that.” Olaf just shrugged. “Although, having to deal with his personality was worse.”  
“Coming from you, it must have been hell.”  
“You have no idea. Wanna hear some spicy details?” Olaf basically purred.  
“I would rather die, really.”  
“Alright, keeping things, let’s talk more about your dirty secrets-” Olaf started “Who killed Princess Diana?”

That baffled Jacques. “What? I thought it was your side of the faction.”  
“Oooh,” Olaf put up a ridiculous high-pitched voice. “Are they keeping dirty secrets from poor Jacq?”  
“No, I’m sure it was your people. We wouldn’t-” He thought about it for a second and found out that he cannot deny the possibility. “There must be a reason for it.”  
“For your information,”  shook Olaf his head.“I’m pretty sure Sneer did it.”  
“Wait, what?” Jacques asked with apparent shock. “Jonathan?”  
“Yes, he was there that day. That idiot even let himself to get on the camera footage. It was in a television.”  
“Interesting.”

“Do you want to know more secrets?”  
“I’m not really sure I want that, but go on.”  
“That mustache is stupid. You look like Nikola fucking Tesla.”

He fucked him sloopy in a motel room and didn’t look back. 

__________________________________

Olaf moaned under him and Jacques knew how terribly used to these situations he must be. He moved against his hand with terrifying ease and something back in Jacques’ head came up with a word to call a person with an obvious sexual autonomy, a word so needlessly vulgar, it would usually make his stomach churn, so derogatory connotations it should definitely shouldn’t be used for calling a someone one holds dear. In the current situation, it was obscene and absolutely filthy and he almost choked on his own word choice, although he was sure as hell, Olaf would get off on it.

He gasped.

He wanted to take him hard and violently. Make it all so painful Olaf would have to stop pretending he enjoyed it. It would serve him right. 

He thought about orphans somewhere in the cold, other children abused and scared, fires set, houses burned and their mutual friends left dead.  
But it was all so wrong.  
It was not like Jacques at all and yet he didn’t think he was ever that hard in his entire life and from that point the situation was about to get only harder.  
He was so sure this whole situation is going to backfire terribly and no matter what Olaf said before, he felt like he was sticking his dick to soon-be-a-corpse. 

He wanted to hold the man in arms, hoping to gain redemption for both of them.

Instead, he kicked his legs apart.

__________________________________

“I’m not saying we don’t do good things,” Monty said quietly. “It’s just- Instructions I sometimes get, show signs of a religious sect and dogma. Far away from a scientific reason.”

Monty was a good man. Always cheerful and bright, although he didn’t particularly understood an importance of fiction or anything which was not an exact science.  
He was dead now. He has seen his body sprawled on the table.

___________________________________

He felt so small in Jacques arms. Small, bony and malnourished. His skin was thin and smooth and Jacques didn’t know when exactly he decided to flip him over, but he regretted immediately.  
Suddenly all these memories were just flickers of something from times passed anyway. Déjà vus that he was sure happened, past arguments he tried to win when he thought it mattered, perhaps it was all just his own sentimentality and they were never genuinely friendly.

If he had him on his stomach he could pretend it was still his friend. Stubborn and impossible Olaf. Arrogant and adamant, his raw human nature enchanting to the point where none of them could bring himself to annihilate it. But when he looked into his eyes, he was real. At his face and neck, there were unmistakable signs of time. From far away it was still his Olaf but if one got close enough they would realize he’s not himself anymore. He was flushed and splotches of uneven color patched his cheek, framing the wrinkles and enhancing scars.  
Tratteggio.  
The kind of restoration technique which replaces the missing parts of the original to patch the damage without hiding it. Like they could kill him and create a new person exactly the same as he was, without any consequences. 

He pressed himself between Olaf’s legs and the man took it all.

Perhaps this was what happened to all of them, men like Olaf. They were never supposed to age, in stories they were supposed to die tragically, young and hopeful before they turned into a too salty and villainous shell of themselves. These Bossies and Rimbauds. Bright and vengeful.  
Perhaps there was evil in that man from the start and Jacques should have paid more attention to signs instead of simply hoping Olaf won't ever act on his worst impulses. Not to accept him as he was.

Perhaps it was Jacques’ fault after all.

The man under him moaned and it sounded offended and derisive.  
He realized Olaf is disgusted by him. 

___________________________________

He asked her once. He wished he didn’t but he at that moment he just had to know. Or at least he thought so.

“Who’s the father?”  
She gave him a terrifying look. “Is that what you think of me?”  
Children between fires. What a foolish concept.  
“I love you, Kit, I just-”  
“Dewey is going to be the father.”

He didn’t dare to bring that subject up again.

___________________________________

He was a good man. Good enough to ask and when snubbed good enough to continue asking with no words but gentle touches, making sure he has all, the permission, willingness and the want.  
Good enough to hold Olaf through his orgasm, tightly and warmly like he was a real lover.  
Good enough to believe bad people can do good things too. That everyone wants to be redeemed.

Olaf pulled him down to bite him and that may as be the mark of Cain.

___________________________________

There was blood on the floor. When he looked closer it’s just come color, perhaps make up. There was red stain on the floor.  
No, there was no floor.  
The house was gone and the only thing left were exposed pillars, parts of walls which were sturdy enough to outlast the fire. an open corpse with ribs gaping from the empty torso. Mulatiated black and covered in ashes.

It went down publicity so everyone would see it and perhaps that’s why he liked burning things so much. It was an execution which could not be covered, an act of stamping which stay there forever as a scar of the society, theatrical as ever.  
Everyone had seen it, the hell unleashed on the earth, black smoke raising, hope and dreams disappearing in particles of ash, all cremated.

He made them all stare and breath their own mistakes.

___________________________________

“Sometimes we have to die just to live.”  
Lemony always said things like that but that time Jacques knew, he meant it literally.

__________________________________

He underestimated how good in deception the man was, after all.

“Olivia!”  
Olaf didn’t even blink, rearranging his clothes in a slow pace. Jacques noted Esme didn’t let him take the keys.  
“Save your voice, Esme’s probably already tied her up.”    
“Esme!” he tried. “Esme, please!”  
Olaf rolled his eyes, “I wouldn’t do that. She’s probably very mad at you for sleeping with me.”  
He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to accept any of it.  
“Shouldn’t she be mad at you for sleeping with me?”

The man just shrugged. “Maybe. But she won’t.”

___________________________________

“You are so slim,” he poked Olaf’s ribs and got slapped by a pitiful motel parody on a pillow.  
“Excuse me, my figure is _lithe_.”  
Their way had to part soon, but for the second he just wanted to pretend they were young again. “You should eat a burger or something.”  
Olaf smiled, but his eyes somehow did an opposite.

"People like me don't get fat. I've tried to tell you before. We just burn everything up.”

**Author's Note:**

> The rope quotes are from Sarah Kane’s 4.48 Psychosis.  
> Some of Olaf's lines are from John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger.


End file.
